


Diplomacy

by Marta



Category: Lord of the Rings (2001 2002 2003), Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Character Study, Gen, One Shot, Politics, Post-Canon, Racism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-08-06
Updated: 2010-08-06
Packaged: 2017-10-17 01:34:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,749
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/171548
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Marta/pseuds/Marta
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An army marches on its stomach, and any empire requires taxes to meet its needs. Yet the question of who should be taxed, and in what degree, often touches on more emotional grounds. Faramir and Aragorn deal with a suggestion from one of the royal clerks.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Diplomacy

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Linda Hoyland](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=Linda+Hoyland).



> c. 30 Fourth Age; Minas Tirith

I.

Faramir leaned against the arm of his chair, resting his chin in the palm of his hand. His stomach growled softly, and he frowned; he prided himself on his control, even over such bodily functions. Luckily, no one seemed to notice. At any event the young man presenting to the council went on with his recommendations, without so much as glancing toward the steward. 

The man absent-mindedly flicked a braid of black hair behind his ear, and Faramir noticed that it glinted in the sunlight in a way that the coarser hair possessed by the Dúnedain would not have. That called to mind a similar gesture, at a mettarë ball five years past, and Faramir remembered how he'd met the man.

His name was Harnistir, a grandson of Forlong's; the lord of Lebennin had introduced the strapping lad on the cusp of manhood, and bragged how he'd been accepted into the king's civil service. He was to serve in the treasury – Under-Exchequer of Southern Affairs, if Faramir remembered correctly. Forlong had asked Faramir to look out for his grandson, should their paths cross in Minas Tirith, and Faramir had agreed to do so. He also remembered Harnistir's mother, a princess from Far Harad who had married one of Forlong's sons as a pledge of peace. 

All of which made Harnistir's suggestions all the more suspect, and all the more difficult to implement. Faramir could imagine even now Imrahil's reaction to such a suggestion. If any man in Gondor had less love for men of the far South than Ithilien's prince, it would be Dol Amroth's. Harnistir had been appointed to his position over more-seasoned men because he knew more about Haradric customs and politics than was true of his more purely Dúnedain contemporaries. 

All of those reasons still seemed as sound today as they had three years ago, when the Chief Exchequer had suggested Harnistir for the post. But Faramir had not counted on the lingering effects of centuries-long war. In his heart he thought of Harnistir as a man of Gondor; yet when he looked into the man's jet-black eyes, they were too much like ones he'd seen from the other side of a sword. He knew that Harnistir's proposal must bear the approval of the Chief Exchequer, and Faramir could see the wisdom of the plan, but in his heart…. ai, in his heart, Faramir struggled to see past those eyes.

Faramir shook his head to clear his thoughts. He turned his attentions back to Harnistir. "The merchants of Harad are now doubly crippled," Harnistir was saying, "by years of taxes exacted by Sauron and by the restitution my lords have seen fit to levy after the war. Resentment for their northern conquerors grows daily, and so I suggest that some financial forgiveness would demonstrate our good will toward the Haradrim." The man was speaking about trade licenses now, something about granting Haradric merchants the right to purchase them in Dol Amroth and so to avoid the tariffs imposed on goods from outside Gondor. 

Faramir sat up at that. He could well imagine Imrahil's reaction; the lost revenue would hurt Dol Amroth, and... Of a sudden, the fullness of Harnistir's suggestion hit him. The man was not only speaking of taxes and tariffs, services rendered and given; he was suggesting that Harad become a province of Gondor, much like Lebennin or Anórien. 

Faramir felt his face grow flush and noticed that Aragorn glanced his way, almost imperceptibly, before returning his attention to Harnistir. For his part, Faramir bit the inside of his cheek to distract himself. He was every inch Denethor's son and had learned the value of well-chosen words, yet this suggestion tried his patience.

Aragorn, seated in the king's seat at the head of the council table, raised his hand for silence. Harnistir stopped mid-sentence, and Faramir felt his face cool a little. "Your suggestions have merit," Aragorn said, "yet they touch on issues much broader than pecuniary matters alone. I must think on them, and discuss them with lords not present here today." Harnistir nodded, but the confident smile he'd worn earlier faded a little from his face. "I shall, however, take your proposal under advisement," Aragorn continued, smiling encouragingly at the man. "We may call on you again after midsummer, should this matter require further discussion."

****************************************************

II.

A half-hour later, Faramir and Aragorn sat in the steward's parlor. Having called the council in recess shortly after Harnistir's departure, Aragorn had suggested they forego the pomp of a formal luncheon and instead have one of Faramir's servants bring them a simple meal, which they could enjoy more privately.

Faramir had readily agreed to the suggestion; he still felt a bit shaken at how upset Harnistir's suggestion had made him, and a quieter meal would do him more good than one where he had to observe the proprieties inherent of dining with the king. So he'd sent his aide for bread, hard sausage, cheese, and ale – Ranger's food, as Aragorn called it, though Faramir could never remember having fresh cheese and white bread in Ithilien – and had settled himself into his favorite chair.

The two men sat for a while without saying anything. After a moment, though, Faramir sensed that this was not simply companionable silence; he guessed that Aragorn was waiting on him to say something. He took a deep sip of his ale and sat the mug on the low table before him. "Was I truly that obvious, back in the council?"

Aragorn speared a piece of cheese from the platter with his fork. "Not obvious, no. But I was raised among elves, and am more perceptive of subtle changes than are many in Gondor." Faramir quirked an eyebrow at that, and Aragorn laughed. "Though I am sure coming of age under your father's tutelage encouraged a similarly discriminating eye. I only mean that I doubt anyone else noticed how the suggestion irked you." 

He bit the cheese off his fork and swallowed. "But, Faramir, this is not the last such proposal that is likely to be made before the council. I know you have little love of Southrons, but we must all balance that dislike against the need for diplomacy. Harnistir was right about one thing – if our policies nurse discontent in Harad, peace can scarcely last."

Faramir nodded. "I know," he said softly, almost to himself. Yet even as he said it, memories appeared to him as before his eyes: an Ithilien farmstead burned to the ground; a mûmak corpse rotting in a riverbed; a long line of Rangers, laid out to be buried after a battle against the very Haradrim that Harnistir would have made part of Gondor.

Aragorn set his mug down on the table and leaned closer to Faramir, setting his hand on Faramir's knee. "It is only a matter of taxes," the king said.

"It is not," Faramir said, and he was surprised how much of his bitterness showed through in his voice. Aragorn sat back up. "Your pardon, my king," Faramir said quickly. "Much of what you say is true, and I would not have our people embroiled in war needlessly. Yet this is not just a matter of taxes. If our financial policies drive the Southrons to hate us more than they would otherwise, then I would address that. Yet to name them as Gondorians, give them much the same rights as the widows of the Gondorians who have fallen on their blades... Harnistir asks much."

Aragorn nodded. "I am aware of that. You will remember that I did not agree to his suggestions; nor will I. Yet this was not the first such entreaty. What is it about Harnistir's suggestion that angers you so?"

Faramir lifted his mug from the table and took a sip of his ale. He too wondered why this particular suggestion had disturbed him so much. He liked to think it was not simply the color of the man's eyes; Faramir had met pure-blooded Southrons in the years since the war, emissaries and merchants and even princes, but he had never reacted in such a way. And then a thought struck him. In past years his son had been but a boy, but now Elboron was a man, and would soon be leaving the safety of Emyn Arnen to join the Rangers.

"'Tis Elboron," he said after a moment. "I have pledged my life to Gondor, and gladly give what service I may. And I try to treat fairly with those who were once our enemies. And yet, come harvest-time my son will pledge his sword to defending our southern borders. It was difficult to join the army myself, to leave lute and book behind and take up my sword, yet that is nothing compared to seeing my son do the same. It does not dispose me to sympathy, least of all to the very people my Elboron may skirmish against."

"Aye," Aragorn whispered, and Faramir was a bit surprised at the wistful look in the king's eyes. It was only then that Faramir remembered: Aragorn also had a son who would enter Gondor's service at summer's end. "I think I understand," the king said softly. "Your mind may sympathize, but your heart is with your son." Aragorn sighed. "A kingdom cannot be built on fear, nor run on such a basis. Yet perfection is often beyond the reach of the greatest of men, even if they be stewards – or kings." 

He tore a chunk of bread from the loaf on the platter before the men, and then smiled at Faramir. "I do not demand your presence at every council," he said. "And we scarcely ever come to resolution at such meetings; send one of your advisors to observe what is said, and form your suggestions afterward. That will do well enough for a season or two."

'Twas good, Faramir decided, to serve a king who could tolerate imperfection; and better still to serve a man he could trust. He cut a piece of sausage off from the round and smiled at Aragorn. "That will serve me well indeed. As for Harnistir, I did have one thought. The royal bursary buys many goods from Haradric merchants here in Minas Tirith – silks, spices, and so on. Would it not be better to have agents buy such things in Harad itself, and so take the import taxes on ourselves? 'Twould be subtler than Harnistir's suggestion, and accomplish much the same thing…"


End file.
